Our Last Night
by MakorraLove97
Summary: It's almost morning, Clint realizes. A dreading look crosses his face at the thought. He's been trying not to think about the time, knowing once morning came, he would have to leave for another solo mission. Which means another month without seeing Natasha. Before he leaves, he gives his thoughts, and leaves a promising note for the redheaded Russian . Slight Hurt/Comfort.


**Hi everyone, how are you all doing? So, this is a random one-shot I decided to write up once I got the idea from listening to the song, "**_**Daylight**_**", by Maroon 5. It is a really good song; you should definitely check it out. :)**

**I'm not sure how good this is, but hopefully you still all enjoy it. Thanks for reading!**

_**Please comment/review and let me know what you think of it, I would greatly appreciate it. All opinions, thoughts, and feedback are welcomed and encouraged. Thanks!**_

**I OWN NOTHING; I DO NOT OWN THE AVENGERS.**

* * *

"_Our Last Night_"

**. . .**

He watches her sleep peacefully with his icy blue irises – her body perfectly still and relaxed in his arms. He watches her chest rise and fall, her breathing steady, following an even rhythm.

She lies on her flat on her back, her head resting on his shoulder while he has an arm around her, keeping her nude body tightly against his own. Her red curls are sprawled out with several strayed pieces covering half her face.

_She is so painfully beautiful_, Clint thinks to himself as his eyes linger on her face, half buried in his shoulder blade and the other half covered by her hair. He lifts his arm up quietly, not wanting to wake her up, then he gently pushes her hair out of her face, exposing her relaxed and sleeping features.

He sighs, stroking the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb. Oh, how he is going to miss touching her silky skin, watching her smile at his lame jokes, watching her have her guard down, which is rare for the Black Widow; he is going to miss kissing her, caressing her body, and holding her in his arms.

He doesn't want to go; he doesn't want to leave her. The two of them have been working nonstop and they haven't even been working together, they have been doing solo missions for the last few months.

It's almost morning, Clint realizes. A dreading look crosses his face at the thought invading his mind. He's been trying not to think about the time because he knew once morning came, he would have to leave. He would have to leave for another solo mission that would probably take another month to complete.

Which means, another month until he sees her next.

While one hand is resting softly on her smooth stomach, his uses his other hand to run through his hair. He lays his head back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, his eyes suddenly hardening with a dark glare.

Why do their jobs always have to keep them apart?

Clint shuts his eyes, flashes of last night entering in his mind; the images clearly coming to view under his shut eyelids. He remembers how he limped to the old motel, knowing exactly which number room she would be in; waiting for him.

He had bruises scattered across his face and when she laid eyes on him, she kissed every one without a word. He remembers seeing a faded stab wound on her abdomen; he also remembers how he cringed. Their jobs are dangerous – bruises and wounds come with it in a tight package, but he still hates seeing the marks on her.

They only had that one night to share together. Only that one night until daylight comes and he would have to leave. That was their last night until next month where he would – hopefully – see her again.

He sits up in bed, carefully moving her head to rest on the pillow. He climbs out of bed, his movements slow, not wanting to leave. He just wants time to slow down. To give him more time with her.

Clint bends down to grab his clothes that are scattered around the room, considering last night that their clothes were just carelessly thrown across the room without another thought.

He slides on his boxers, then his jeans. He rubs his eyes tiredly. Yeah, there wasn't much sleep last night; merely a few hours, if even that. But he didn't regret any of it. He just regrets he couldn't spend more time with her.

The sun begins to rise over the horizon, morning beginning to arrive. He needs to get going. His flight is in less than an hour.

The Agent slides on his white T-shirt with his leather jacket following in suit. He sits down on the bed, putting on his socks and boots, his eyes never leaving Natasha's face.

When he finished getting dressed and ready, he walks to the side of the bed and bends his head down, wanting to say one more thing to her before he left.

"I love you, Natasha." He whispers in her ear, his lips lightly brushing against her ear.

She stirs in her sleep, but doesn't wake up which he's thankful for because she needs her rest. She told him some of the things she went through during her mission in Moscow and from what he heard, she needs all the rest she could get.

He walks over to the desk in the corner of the small room, picking up a piece of paper and a pen. He scribbles a few words and when he's done, he places the tiny note on the bed next to her sleeping figure.

"Bye, 'Tasha." He mutters to her, giving her one final glance before it all would soon turn into a memory.

A slow pain begins to rise inside of him, not wanting to leave her. Just wanting to hold her for the rest of his life. He then turns away, grabbing his keys off the desk, and disappearing out the door.

* * *

_Clint glanced around his surroundings, making sure no one is following him before he began to approach the old motel._

_He jogged towards the old building and ran right up the staircase, leading to the second floor. He continued to search the room until his blue hues landed on room 223._

_He knocked on the door and waited patiently for the redhead to open up the door. His gaze drifted upwards to stare at the empty, darken sky. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, subconsciously chewing on his bottom lip._

_The door eventually swung open, revealing a smirking Natasha Romanoff. She had a few bruises lined up on her jaw, but she still looked beautiful._

"_Took you long enough." She took his hand and pulled him inside the small room, shutting the door behind her._

_When she spun around to face him, his hand immediately began to caress her jaw. "How'd this happen?"_

"_You know how those Russians are." She winked, a grin plastered across her face. "But it was nothing. Moscow mission went a little wary. Nothing I couldn't handle."_

_He smiled at that, but he still looked unsure. Of course, he knew she could handle anything – she's the Black Widow. It's just seeing her hurt it gets to him._

"_How'd this happen?" She repeated his earlier question, eyeing his bruises on his scattered across his face._

"_You know how those Germans could get." He chuckled, shrugging one of his shoulders as he threw his keys on the desk and slid off his leather jacket. "I'm fine, though. Just got ruffed up a bit."_

_Natasha strolled over to the bed and took a seat. She hasn't seen him in so long. She never thought she could miss someone so much. Not until she met him. Not until she became his partner. Not until she fell in love with him._

"_I missed you." He said quietly to her, not used to being so sentimental. He glanced over at her, a small, childish smile spreading across his face._

_The Russian paused, chewing on her bottom lip. She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it. _Love is for children_, she kept telling herself. It was useless, though. She loves him._

_She combed her fingers through her red curls, and nodded her head slowly, "Missed you, too."_

_He walked over to her, his icy irises never leaving her emerald ones. He didn't say anything else, just climbed over her body and began kissing and nibbling on the soft flesh of her neck._

_He missed touching her, holding her. He missed being with her; being with his partner. SHIELD promised them after one more solo mission, they would be working as partners again and he couldn't wait. Neither could she._

_A moan crawled up her throat and escaped her mouth, echoing throughout the room, giving him great pleasure to hear that coming from her. Her nails combed through his hair, making him groan._

_Their clothes are ripped off them and the pieces of fabric are thrown carelessly across the room. Their lips connected in a heated, needed, kiss as their bodies collided._

_They spent the rest of the night making love until they grew tired. Then, they lied in bed, her lying in his arms. They spoke about what went on during her latest mission, as did he._

_He told her that he would have to leave by the morning, but he'd see her again in a month. She had her own mission she needed to work on starting tomorrow, anyways. Their jobs always coming first; always in the way._

_None of that mattered though. He stared at her, admiring how perfect she looked: naked, in his arms, with the moonlight shining through the blinds and hitting against her face. Only she mattered._

_The rest of the world didn't exist. This was their last night together and they were going to make it count. Only Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff existed, that was it and that's all they needed._

* * *

Natasha's eyes flutter open, the sunlight shining through the blinds and hitting against her tired eyes. She groans and blinks her eyes hard several times, attempting to adjust to the forced light.

It's morning already. Which means…

She turns her head to look beside her, immediately noticing Clint's absence. "He's gone." She mumbles to herself, a heavy sigh following her comment.

He told her he would have to leave by the daylight. He had an important mission somewhere in France. _One more solo mission, _she reminds herself.

The Russian sits up in bed, holding the sheet up against her bare chest as she glances around the empty room. All of Clint's things: gone. She shakes her head, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

Thoughts of last night begin to consume her mind, but she blocks them off. Needing to get ready before SHIELD sent their car over, this would be in another hour and a half.

Just as she is about to climb out of bed, in the corner of her eye, she spots a folded piece of paper lying next to her on the bed. Her gaze falls on the note, lingering there for what seems like a thousand years, but in reality, it's only ten seconds.

She bites down on her bottom lip and carefully picks up the piece of folded paper. She takes a deep breath, almost afraid to open it.

Natasha slowly unfolds the note and her eyes scan over it, every single word capturing her attention. She reads it once – twice. She misses him.

The Russian Agent isn't sure how long she stared at the note Clint left for her, but she eventually forced herself out of bed so she could begin to get ready. She takes a quick shower, gets dressed, and snatches the note off the bed, shoving it in her boot.

When she hears the car honk, she sucks in a deep breath. She could get through this month. It won't be easy, especially not having her partner with her, but she will get through it. She always does.

"One more month." She mutters under her breath, looking forward to working with her partner again. She is good at her job, an expert, but it's nice to have someone that cares for her always watching her back, willing to take a bullet for her.

With one final glance around the room, remembering last night all in one second, she turns around, swings the door open, and heads outside. The note resting in her boot gives her small comfort and gives her a reason for the corners of her mouth to twist upwards into a small smile.

'_Tasha,_

_Try not to miss me too much, okay? I'll see you soon, promise you that. Only a month, you could deal without me for that long, right? Last night, seeing you and being with you like that, is something that's going to make me finish this damn mission as soon as possible._

_I'm sorry I had to leave so early this morning. I hate how I couldn't kiss you good morning or spend some more time with you, but I had to go._

_You ever need me though, I don't care what the hell I'm doing, you call me. You'll always come first, before the job. You call and I'm there. Always. I know you could handle yourself, but let me take care of you, too._

_I love you, Nat. See you soon._

_Clint_


End file.
